


Mutant Style

by professor



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/pseuds/professor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik meets a gorgeous stranger at a club one night.  When he tries to find him again later, Erik gets a big surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutant Style

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Subtilior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtilior/gifts).



> Dear Recipient, I hope you have Happy Holidays, and enjoy the fic! Thanks to afrocurl for the beta job.
> 
> Written for the Secret Mutant 2012 Exchange for the prompt: "Gangnam Style."

Erik sips his beer and grimaces. The bartender claims to have real German beer on tap, but he apparently wouldn’t know good beer if it bit him on the ass.

Erik asks himself again why he comes to this club. 

He frowns again when that insipid M-pop song that’s been making the rounds starts blaring out of the speakers. Erik looks around for the quickest escape route but finds his eyes drawn to the dancefloor instead. 

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, sexy lady!” booms out of the speakers as a lithe, athletic figure rides an invisible horse across the dancefloor.

Time freezes, and Erik can hear his heart pounding in his ears. The figure in the center of the dancefloor should look ridiculous, but instead it -- he -- he’s just so -- Erik is lost in a vision of blue eyes and red, red lips and pale skin and -- 

Erik has to talk to that man.

~*~

Erik waits until the song ends, and then cuts through the crowd like a shark zeroing in on its prey.

Using the loud music as an excuse, he leans in close. “Buy you a drink?”

The man turns and Erik flails a little inside, thinking _Oh god he’s gorgeous_ \-- “Well, I never turn down free alcohol. Thank you, my friend.”

Erik uses the crowd as an excuse to put his hand on the small of the man’s back as they walk back to the bar. The man orders scotch, neat, and Erik tries not to stare too obviously at the long, white column of his throat as he drinks.

At some point Erik remembers his own drink -- vodka this time -- and takes a sip of it as well. He racks his brain for a question to ask that’s not totally insipid -- “So, come here often?” or wildly inappropriate -- “Can I take you to the back room and suck your cock?” Erik is wretched at small talk and he’s never fucking cared before, but now he’s cursing his ineptness. 

“So,” asks the stranger, leaning close. “Can I take you to the back room and suck your cock?”

Erik nearly spills his drink.

~*~

Erik can’t believe this is happening -- gorgeous strangers do not often offer to suck his cock in dingy nightclubs. But he’s not about to object. 

The stranger leads him, laughing, to the back room -- and it’s not at all what Erik is expecting. For one thing, it’s _private_.

“Why is --” Erik starts, but is quickly silenced with a finger across his lips. 

“Shhhhhh, no talking, darling,” says the stranger, and before Erik can respond (tell him to shut up, he doesn’t _think_ so), the stranger slips to his knees and has Erik’s cock out before he can blink and --

_**OH. GOD.** _

Erik’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he tries not to make embarrassing noises as the strangers gives him an absolutely filthy blowjob. He tries to buck his hips, but the other man’s hands are restraining his hips and _oh god that’s hot_. 

For lack of anything better to do with his hands he winds up slamming his fists and palms against the wall, over and over again, as high-pitched keens and whimpers escape his throat. 

Erik tries to last, but it’s been too long, and the stranger really knows what he’s doing with his lips and tongue -- Erik barely has time to gasp out a warning when he’s coming with a yell, and the stranger swallows it all and looks up at Erik and _licks his lips_.

“Wha--” says Erik, dazedly. He tries to collect his thoughts well enough to ask important questions like “What’s your name?” and “What’s your number?”, and, most importantly, “How soon can we do that again?”

The stranger rises from his knees and pops up on his tip toes to give Erik a kiss, and _oh god he can taste himself_. Everything sort of vanishes in a pleasant haze at that point. 

After a few minutes, Erik rouses from his afterglow stupor, and it’s then that Erik realizes that: he’s alone, his dick is still hanging out, and, most importantly:

He has no idea what the man’s name is or how to get in touch with him again.

_Mother. FUCKER_.

~*~

Erik goes back to the club every night for two weeks, but fails to spot his quarry. It’s possible he’s simply missing the man - the crowds are manageable on weeknights, but the place is always packed on weekends. And the man is rather short. 

At least that’s what Erik keeps telling himself, as he grows increasingly desperate to see this man again. 

Because Erik can’t stand the thought of never seeing him again. Erik wants a repeat of their blowjob in the back room, and then he wants to return the favor. He wants to take the man home and have slow, deep, thorough sex with him, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of him until he’s a shivering, shaking wreck. 

Erik wants to feel that wicked tongue breaching his hole, those clever fingers spreading him open, followed by the man’s cock thrusting inside of him.

Erik jerks off to fantasies of dozens -- _hundreds_ \-- of ways they could fuck. He bites down on his fist and moans as he comes, imagining those blue eyes watching him come apart.

He falls back onto his pillows, panting and sweating.

Clearly something else needs to be done.

~*~

Erik is so far gone he loads up the official YouTube video of that stupid M-pop song that started the whole mess, just so he can listen and indulge in some nostalgia. 

About two minutes in, he has the sensation of being smacked upside the head with a BIG brick.

Then he starts swearing and cursing in every single language he knows -- all seven of them. 

A few minutes later, when he’s finally calmed down -- HA -- anyway, when he’s no longer in danger of frying the circuits of his computer with random angry magnetic pulses, Erik starts typing furiously into Google. 

And there he is, the best one night stand of Erik’s life, staring into the camera with those entrancing blue eyes and licking those obscene red lips. 

M-pop sensation Charles Xavier, who’d guest-starred in the “Gangnam Style” video with K-pop rapper and fellow mutant PSY (aka Park Jae-sang, or Jason Wyngarde as his adopted parents had named him.)

Well.

At least Erik knows how to track him down now. 

~*~

This would normally be the cue for Erik to suffer a movie’s worth of rom com shenanigans, and through a series of unlikely coincidences, finally end up with a ticket to one of Charles’ concerts where he would be reunited with his One True … something.

But Erik believes in playing to win, and is impatient to boot. Also, he works at one of the top engineering firms in town and nets a comfortable salary.

So, Erik buys front row tickets to Charles’ next concert, books a flight, and reserves a suite at the five-star hotel closest to the concert venue, in that order.

His mother didn’t raise a fool.

~*~

Erik had wondered if his memory had made Charles seem more attractive than the reality. But seeing Charles perform on stage, in his element -- oh how wrong Erik was to wonder. The man is actually even _more_ devastatingly gorgeous than Erik recalls.

Erik really, really needs to have sex with this man. Again. A lot. Repeatedly. Continuously.

~*~

Erik makes sure to memorize the feel of every single piece of metal Charles is wearing, so he can track him down after the show. 

So when security is distracting and misdirecting hordes of fangirls and fanboys, Erik is able to slip through their perimeter and make his way toward what he presumes to be Charles’ dressing room, undetected.

_Not quite undetected, my friend_ says a voice in Erik’s head.

Right. Telepath.

_Tell me to go away, and I’ll go_ thinks Erik, as he stops in front of the dressing room door. 

Erik could use his power to open it, but he won’t. It’s not his choice to make. 

Erik waits.

There’s a long pause, and the door opens.

~*~

And now he’s here and Charles is here and Erik realizes he has _no idea what to fucking say. NONE._

But Erik’s _here_ , and that’s something. And Charles let him in, and that’s something, too, isn’t it.

Erik opens his mouth. Closes it. 

“As much fun as this is, watching you be emotionally awkward all over the place,” says Charles, “how about we skip to the sex and have the big feelings talk later?”

~*~

The question is barely out of Charles’ mouth when Erik is on him, unrestrained now that Charles has given his consent. 

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since that night at the club,” confesses Erik between kisses. “You’ve been driving me _mad_.” 

“Feeling’s mutual, I assure you,” gasps out Charles in return, and Erik would do a victory fistpump if his hands weren’t occupied. 

There’s a flurry of activity, trying to get out of their clothes as quickly as possible (which mostly fails, Erik nearly trips over his own pants more than once), but finally, _finally_ they are both naked and Erik practically tackles Charles onto the couch against the wall. 

Charles smirks and flips them over so Charles is on top, and then he leans in and starts sucking on Erik’s neck. Erik’s eyes flutter shut and he moans. 

Erik takes the opportunity to snake his hands down and grab Charles’ perfect, delectable ass, and _squeeze_. Charles makes a noise muffled against Erik’s neck. He starts rutting against Erik, their cocks sliding together deliciously between their bodies. Erik has fleeting thoughts of wanting to take this slow and enjoy themselves before deciding that he’s waited too long, he wants it too much.

Both men move together faster and faster until all too quickly they’re both coming, hot and wet in the space between their bodies. Charles slumps bonelessly on top of Erik and Erik loosely drapes an arm across Charles’ back.

Charles is gasping, staring at Erik wide-eyed and incredulous, and Erik knows the expression is mirrored on his own face. 

~*~

“I have a hotel room,” murmurs Erik.

“So do I, as it happens,” says Charles. “Which do you think is closer?”

~*~

They get to Charles’ hotel room and start stripping down again, and Erik realizes, abruptly, that he is an _idiot_.

Charles is an international star. He probably does this after every show, with a different groupie each time. They’ll have one night of mindblowing sex, and Erik will be stuck pining again, and Charles will move onto the next show and the next conquest, possibly remembering Erik with some passing fondness.

Charles can have his pick of models and actors and musicians and -- anyone, really. So why would he pick Erik?

Well, fuck it then. If one night is all Erik’s going to get, then he’s going to make it count.

~*~

Charles asks breathlessly what Erik thinks he’s doing when Erik starts, but gets onboard pretty quickly, and thank god for that. 

With hands and tongue, Erik slowly and methodically maps every inch of Charles’ body, determined to memorize every detail, to burn it into his mind so he will never, ever forget that for one brief shining moment, Charles was his.

Erik starts with Charles’ perfect delicate toes and sturdy feet and well-turned ankles, lavishing them with licks and kisses and caresses. 

He slowly migrates north, caressing and tasting Charles’ calves, knees, quads, noting the spots Charles’ likes best, savoring each gasp and jerk and sigh.

He spends quite a bit of time on the soft skin of Charles’ inner thighs, tracing patterns that make Charles moan and whine and beg. 

Charles’ hips -- oh, Erik could write _sonnets_ about Charles’ hips. He’s tempted to bite, to leave a lasting mark on Charles, but Erik holds himself back. He’s not sure why.

Charles’ belly is another place Erik spends a lot of time, pressing kisses into the soft skin as he runs his hands up and down Charles’ sturdy torso. 

Erik counts out loud the number of kisses it takes him to span Charles’ broad shoulders. He loses count several times, and has to start over. 

The divot in Charles’ collarbone, the spot where his shoulder joins his neck, the tip of his nose, the curve of his cheek -- all these spots, and more, Erik covers with kisses, determined not leave a single inch of skin untouched. 

Charles makes a couple of half-hearted noises during all of this about not wanting Erik to do all the work, and Erik almost has to laugh, except he’d have to pull away to do that. Doesn’t Charles realize Erik is actually being perfectly _selfish_?

And then Erik goes back to all the places he deliberately skipped over, wanting to save them for the end. Charles’ sweet cherry red lips, that it turns out come that color and require no makeup. 

Charles’ rosy red nipples that match his lips, and are incredibly sensitive -- Charles makes the most _delightful_ noises as Erik licks and sucks and nibbles and pinches them, and Erik briefly thinks about bringing Charles off from this alone. But no. Erik has other plans. 

Erik grabs onto the curves of Charles’ perfect ass, and starts sucking Charles’ hard and leaking cock. He licks and swirls his tongue all around Charles’ shaft, and brings one hand down to play with Charles’ balls, savoring Charles’ scent and taste and the feel and weight of his cock in Erik’s mouth, as Charles writhes and makes positively _inhuman_ sounds. 

Charles gasps out a warning when he’s close and tries to pull out but Erik won’t let him, he grips Charles’ hips and moans when Charles comes in his mouth. 

_Mine mine mine_ Erik thinks deliriously as he swallows every drop, savoring -- _memorizing_ \-- the taste. He can also _feel_ Charles projecting his pleasure and takes pride that he’s the one who caused Charles to come undone like this. 

They both fall back and pant for a bit, and then Charles drags Erik up and kisses him, and puts his hand on Erik’s cock and in an embarrassingly short amount of time Erik is moaning and rutting and coming into Charles’ hand. 

Charles kisses him and holds him through his climax, murmuring sweet promises in Erik’s ear that he desperately wants to believe. 

~*~

Erik blinks his eyes open and is disoriented for a moment before memories rush back. Right, he hadn’t meant to sleep here, but maybe he can still sneak out before Charles politely asks him to leave --

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted for breakfast,” comes Charles’ voice, slightly muffled by the blanket still over Erik’s head, “so I ordered rather a lot of things, I’m afraid.”

Erik throws off the covers and sits up, to see Charles holding a plate of eggs, perched on the side of the bed. 

“Here, come help me eat this,” says Charles coyly, as he holds a forkful up to Erik’s lips. 

Erik tries, _tries_ not to show his dismay on his face, but it’s morning and Erik’s never been good in the morning. And now _Charles Xavier_ has brought him _breakfast in bed_ like a really great boyfriend would. It’s perfectly wonderful, perfectly domestic -- and it’s a perfect reminder of everything Erik wants and will never get to have.

“What’s wrong, Erik?” asks Charles, setting the fork and plate down on the cart parked next to the bed. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Erik quickly, as he tries to untangle himself from the bed and make his escape. But Charles is sitting on the sheets and Erik is effectively trapped.

“Erik, please, tell me,” says Charles, his eyes wide and imploring, and _goddammit_ Erik’s not even going to get out of here with his dignity intact. 

“I just --” Erik can’t even get the words out. (Erik briefly considers asking for -- or hoping for -- Charles to simply read it in his mind, but no, Erik’s friend Emma had schooled him thoroughly on not inflicting that kind of emotionally lazy bullshit on telepaths _years ago_.)

Erik stops, and takes a deep breath. He’s a goddamned adult and he can _do this_. “I don’t want to be your one-night stand. And I get it, I get that it’s your choice and that you have a life and a career and millions of adoring fans throwing themselves at you and I still can’t believe you picked me even for a night -- well, two nights -- and now you’re offering me breakfast and I want to badly to believe it _means something_ but --”

He cuts off, shakes his head. “Thank you for breakfast,” says Erik. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather leave now and -- OOOFFFF” Erik had trouble speaking around the tongue that was now in his mouth -- namely, _Charles’_ tongue. 

_Erik, do you know how many of those adoring fans see me, as a person? I’m just a fantasy to them, an ideal they can project their own wishes onto. You, on the other hand, didn’t even know who I was that first night in the bar. It’s one of the reasons I picked you that night._

Erik winces, and gently disengages from Charles. “To be fair, we haven’t actually talked. We don’t know each other, and I’ve fantasized my fair share about you, too. How do you know I’m not just like them?” 

“You tell me, Erik. So now that you’ve had me,” says Charles, “what do you want?” 

“I want --” starts Erik. What _does_ he want?

Start simple, Erik thinks. “I want to have breakfast with you,” he says finally.

Charles’ answering smile is brighter than the sun.


End file.
